


I’ll Wait With You

by jonathanharkersfoodblog



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (slightly more hurt), (very brief it’s like one line about a random person), Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I choose to believe that Melanie and Jon are friends, Mild Gore, No beta we kayak like Tim, and you can fight me on that, brief mention of abusive relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonathanharkersfoodblog/pseuds/jonathanharkersfoodblog
Summary: Jon waits for the ambulance with Melanie after she quits in what might be the final moments of what could have been a friendship.
Relationships: Melanie King & Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	I’ll Wait With You

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, I choose to believe that after Melanie is no longer under direct Slaughter influence and just decides to not do her work anymore, she and Jon start actually talking without butting heads and the inklings of a friendship form.

Even though he knew it was coming, the scream made Jon jump out of his skin. He wanted to rush in, to do anything he could, but he held himself back. Just another moment. Just wait another moment. He was gripping his phone so hard his knuckles had gone pale. He’d preemptively called for an ambulance just a minute ago.

And then the screaming had started. Just on the other side of the door. She’d wanted some privacy while she... did... _it_ . But she’d allowed Jon to stay just on the other side of the door to help her when it was done.

He could make out a few heaving, sobbing breaths, Melanie desperately trying to steel herself before Jon heard another blood-curdling, heart-wrenching scream. And when the screaming mostly stopped what felt like ages later but was really only about 15 seconds, Jon tossed his phone aside on his desk and ran for the door, flinging it open.

“Melanie! Melanie, I’m here, it’s okay.”

Jon almost stopped short at the sight of her. Her eyes were streaming red and clear liquids out of deep, ragged holes in their centers. The blood poured out of them in waterfalls and stained the skin all around, gushing over her cheeks from mutilated sockets.

“Jon? Jon?! Where are you?!” she cried, panicked and flailing around. He took her gently but solidly by the arms and she stilled, gripping his arms so tightly in return that it hurt. They were both shaking horribly.

“It’s okay, M-Melanie. I-I’m here. I called you an ambulance. They’ll be here soon.”

“It hurts. It hurts so fucking much,” she bit out, quietly spitting out words through clenched teeth.

“I-I know. I know it hurts. But you’ll be okay. You-you  _ are _ okay. You did it. You’re... You’re free.”

“Yeah,” Melanie agreed through a heaving, shuddering breath that broke into another sob halfway through. Jon began to slowly lead Melanie out of the tiny side room. “Yeah. I... I did it.” Her entire body continued to be racked by shaky, shuddering breaths that spasmed through her lungs and came back out in choppy fragments. “I did it. I... I’m... I quit. I quit!” She groaned in pain again.

“You quit. You did it.”

“Suck it, Elias. And Lukas.”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh a little bit as he turned the corner and began to take them slowly up the stairs, holding her by the hand and around her waist. He was almost shocked she didn’t object to being so close to him, even in these circumstances. Instead she clutched his hand in hers like it was the only thing keeping her safe. Was it wrong that Jon was glad for that? Was it wrong that he was glad to feel needed? Was it wrong that it felt good to help, even like this?

“And, step. Step. Step,” he directed her up the stairs.

“I’ve got the pattern. I do— _ did _ work here, y’know.”

“Okay.”

“The ambulance will be here soon. Any minute now.”

“M-hm.” Melanie paused their movement and reached up to dig the heels of her palms into her eyes, but Jon grabbed her wrists in a panic.

“Nononono, don’t do that! I-I know it hurts, hurts a lot. But that’ll just make it worse.”

Melanie seethed and gave a hiss of pain through her teeth when she tripped over a stair, nearly falling were Jon not there to catch her before she could fall too far.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

On their way to the lobby, they passed only one other employee, who must have been working some serious overtime, as last Jon had checked the time, it had been nearly 8pm. Jon didn’t know who they were. The Eye supplied that her name was Judith Maccabee, and that she’d been working at the Institute as a researcher for about seven months, hoping a better paying job would help her be able to afford new apartment, far away from her abusive boyfriend, whom she desperately prayed wouldn’t find out that she was planning on leaving.

She stared in shocked horror for a moment, before quickly casting her gaze to the floor and giving Jon and Melanie a wide berth as they passed her. Jon supposed that she’d already learned that she should want no part of what was going on in the archives and who to avoid to keep her nose clean. Jon generally thought that those people were smart, but right now it just felt heartless. If he even had a right to judge that anymore. Maybe he didn’t. But Melanie’s hand in his, squeezing it tight and wrapping her other arm around his shoulder like his arm held her waist firmly, said otherwise. At least for right now. And at least for right now, he was human. Or felt human, anyway. He felt human. He felt helpful.

He felt, no  _ knew  _ that he was helping Melanie. Passionate, fiery, argumentative, angry,  _ kind _ Melanie. Melanie, who’d finally felt like she could show him her true colors. Had chosen to trust him, even after what could be generously described as non-consensual amateur surgery, not to mention all the horror that had come before. Melanie, who’d known he was a monster and had chosen to try to be his friend anyway. Who’d joined himself and Daisy in amiable silence, or talking about things that didn’t matter at all and yet couldn’t feel more important because of who was there to talk about it. Who’d been the one to call him a friend first.

He continued to guide her steps, leading them into the lobby. She’d stopped shaking as much, which Jon took as a good sign, though he was sure she was still in unbearable pain.

“Okay, um, I think you should probably, er, probably lie down. So that gravity can help keep, er... keep the blood from flowing out so much.”

“O-Okay. Okay.”

“Okay.”

He gently helped her ease herself onto the floor right near the front of the reception desk. She practically fell the last few inches, but it didn’t matter at that point. Jon sat there next to her, leaning against the desk

“Can I move your head? So it’s off the floor?” Jon asked

“Okay.”

He adjusted her head so it rested on his lap instead of the hard tile floor.

“Is this okay?” he asked, when she was pillowed against his legs.

“Y-Yeah. Sure. It’s better than the tile.”

As Jon expectantly watched the door with eyes that glinted unnaturally bright in the dark, he couldn’t stop seeing that first image of Melanie’s face contorted in incomprehensible pain and covered in blood and fluids, her eyes now torn and pierced to the nerve.

He hadn’t let go of Melanie’s hand. She hadn’t let go of his. She was okay, he reminded himself. Despite what normal logic would dictate, this was good for her. She was okay. She was free. Free. Something he could never be. He was glad she got to have it, though. She deserved it. And the ambulances would come and clean up the blood. Patch her up as close to good-as-new as they could—without restoring her vision, if all went according to plan—and she would be okay.

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Could you just... talk? I... It’ll help me... It kind of...”

“Of course. What would you like me to talk about?”

“Same old.”

Same old: anything outside of the horrible world they worked in. A sort of inadvertent code for when they wanted to talk about the mundane, the pleasant, the boring, the idle, the simple. To take their mind off things.

Jon thought for a moment before he knew how he wanted to respond.

“I saw a cat today. On my way here,” he said, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against the top of her hand, as if that could help ease the pain in her head.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was a calico cat. Burnt-orange, black, and white spots all over it. It had this pale blue collar that seemed so vibrant since its whole neck was white. It let me stop to pet it. It was very fluffy. It leaned up into my hand and started purring. Very friendly cat. I sat there for almost 20 minutes with it, which is why I was late today. Not that all that matters. I gave it a bit of the meat from my sandwich. I think it liked that. But this cat just seemed so happy to be there with me, even though it didn’t know me. Just happy to be pet and fed. So I stayed and pet it for a good while.”

“What was the cat’s name?”

“Hm?”

“You said it had a collar? I assume there was a name tag?”

“Oh. Bartholomew.”

“Bit of a funny name for a cat. Then again so’s ‘The Admiral.’”

“Yeah, suppose it is. That one’s my fault, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He was just a kitten when... when he was adopted. Adorable little bugger.”

“Still is an adorable little bugger.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

“The cat you met sounds nice. Wish I could have seen him.” The new weight of those words seemed to suddenly wash over the two of them. Neither really knew how to react, so they said nothing.

They could hear the sirens now, blaring down the street towards them and in less than a minute, EMTs were practically kicking down the heavy glass doors into the lobby and whisking Melanie away. They questioned Jon. What had happened, how had it happened, and so on. He’d briefly (and preemptively, though they didn’t need to know that part) explained on the phone, but now that Melanie was safely in their care, they asked for slightly more explanation.

Jon and Melanie had agreed to simply tell the truth. Well, mostly.

“Sh-she had a-an accident with, er... with an awl,” Jon stammered out to the man asking him questions. (His name is Jordan Lane, aged 32, and he has a wife who’s dying of cancer and he feels he should be able to help her because he’s a medical professional, isn’t he? Isn’t this what he does, saving people? Why can’t he help her, then? Why must he lose her? Why—)

“Okay...” Mr. Lane responded. Jon was telling the truth, in part. It had been with an awl. It just hadn’t been an accident. But he didn’t need to get Melanie sent to a psych ward.

Admittedly, it was a vague and flimsy story, but considering they were at the Magnus Institute, the police and emergency workers seemed determined to know only what was necessary and nothing more. So suffice to say Mr. Lane didn’t push for details.

When all was said and done, Jon felt exhausted. And worried. He hoped Melanie would be okay. She’d told him she’d talked to someone before quitting about needing to “be there for her,” were her words. Probably Georgie. After all, she’d been the one picking Melanie up for therapy. For a while after the EMTs and Melanie had left, Jon had simply sat with his knees pulled up to his chest in with his back to the desk. The researcher from earlier, plus a one or two other late workers had passed him in that time. He didn’t really care.

He wanted to go home tonight. He’d decided. Tonight he would go home. It just felt right. No one else was in the archives. Daisy was staying at Basira’s after a particularly taxing physical therapy session. And being there alone would just remind him of Martin. So Jon quickly went back downstairs to gather his few things from his office before hopping on the soonest bus he could catch. 

When he got home (a loose term at best—it didn’t feel particularly “homey”) he simply dropped his things on the floor. He’d come home to shower last night, so he didn’t need to today. He wandered, completely exhausted, into his bedroom and nearly collapsed onto his bed before mustering just enough energy to kick off his shoes and slip on some sleep clothes instead of just sleeping in whatever he’d worn that day. He set his glasses on the nightstand, which was bare save for a small, warmly glowing lamp and dusty digital alarm clock. He clicked the lamp off and promptly fell into bed, burrowing under the several heavy blankets and squishing his head into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed.

And then he began to cry.

He didn’t know why he was crying. He didn’t like crying. He didn’t want to be crying. But here he was. He cried himself to sleep a lot these days. But now that he was home, a rare occurrence at this point, he was able to pull a pillow out of the pile and clutch it to his chest, fingers burrowing into the fluff as it muffled his pathetic sobs.

He didn’t understand why he was crying. He was happy for Melanie. Genuinely. He was glad she’d been able to quit. Maybe today had just been a lot. A lot of emotions he didn’t understand and wasn’t sure how to even begin trying to comprehend. He’d meant it when he’d said he’d miss Melanie. He could really have only called them friends for a little while. But he’d miss her anyway. He cared about her. And was happy for her. But it also felt like just another person gone. At least she wasn’t dead. He supposed neither was Martin, but...

He’d offered Martin a chance to escape. Together. And Martin had called Jon a liar, said Jon would never go through with it. Maybe he was right. Jon didn’t know. What he did know was that he was tired, he was upset, he was a thirty-something-year-old man crying himself to sleep while holding a pillow, and he wished someone were there to make it better.

But he was happy for Melanie.

And he was happy that, for all his recent fuck-ups, he’d been able to do something right. He’d been able to help.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it :)


End file.
